Fresh Metal, Flesh Metal
by Ivyclimb
Summary: After the snap Bucky finds himself back in 1945. The war has ended – they won – and everybody is celebrating. But Bucky is confused; wasn't he supposed to have a metal arm? Why is everyone calling him a hero? Things get a whole lot more confusing when Darcy Lewis shows up – could this be the work of the Soul Stone? /BuckyxDarcy. Post Infinity War. Lengthier summary inside./


**Full Summary:** The Soul Stone takes pride in placing souls where they rightfully belong. This includes placing a soul in a certain time, doing a certain thing, or with a certain someone. Sometimes all three. So, after Thanos snapped his big ugly grape fingers, it really wasn't a big surprise when the Soul Stone guided Bucky back to the 1940's. It was where his soul belonged. The surprise – someone named Darcy Lewis is there, too, and she definitely isn't a 40's pin-up kind of gal. So, the 40's might not be the ideal time for her, but there's no time like the present of the past. They're called soulmates for a reason…/Sexual themes, swearing, mental illnesses, and other stuff so read it anyway :))/

 **A/N: Okay, hi guys! I'm Ivy - I really hope you enjoy the story. It's quite different from what I usually write; I've taken a lot of inspiration from SheHatesWriting, the very awe-inspiring, fantastical writer who's become a major role model to me. Anywho, she's motivated me into writing this story. I hope I can use just a little bit of her talent. Since this is a new style for me the chapters might not be that long, and this is a side story I'm planning to write when not working on my other stuff. It's also a weird paring, but I hope you'll give it a shot anyway. Thanks so much and please review!**

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Bucky woke up in Brooklyn, 1945.

He was face down on a pile of newspapers at the edge of the street curb, laid out like a drunken brute. He pushed several columns over as he tried to stand, his head woozy and his limbs clumsy as he stumbled and squinted his eyes against the harsh sunlight. He felt hot for some reason, and vaguely choked, like something was pulling at his neck. Was he wearing a tie? His entire body itched faintly, his hands twitching with the urge to scratch.

As he stood there, disorientated and confused, a small crowd ran by, screaming and shouting. Bucky's head swiveled out of instinct, his posture changing to run or fight, his eyes searching wildly – frantically—for the danger. All he could see was more hysterical people. They lined the streets and flocked in large groups, men and woman and children howling into the air like rabid animals, jarring Bucky to his very soul.

If they were screaming, why did they look so happy?

Everyone was smiling. Men roamed the streets in military uniform, girls dancing on their arms and children playing tag in the streets. All of them, as they ran, screaming, couldn't seem to smile enough.

A hand clapped on his shoulder and he jumped, breath running from his lungs like the people who ran around him.

"I don't mean to bust your chops, Bucky, but I'd be lyin' if I didn't say you looked like a swigger. Come on in and I'll fetch you a nice cup of joe before you knock over more of my papers." The hand connected to a familiar gentle looking man. Bucky's head spun.

"Charlie?" He licked his lips. "Charlie Wittkins? You run the newspaper."

"Jesus, Bucky, winning that war really got to ya', huh?" The hand hit his shoulder again. "I think you need to lay off the brew!" There was a loud, booming laugh as Bucky stepped away. The world tilted around him and he could feel his head start to shake.

"What's going on?" He asked, his dark eyes narrowing. "You ran the newspaper back before me and Steve left for….did you say 'winning the war'?" His shoulders tensed. His eyes narrowed, and for some reason his head felt weirder than normal. It was lighter, like it should've – and very possibly could – float away.

"What…What war?" He asked, swallowing thickly as a strange taste filled his mouth. Charlie gave another chuckle but it didn't quite reach his eyes this time.

"Come on inside, James, I think you've had one too many." Charlie motioned behind him, gently squeezing Bucky's shoulder but not letting go. There was warmth in his eyes, but Bucky was on edge by the invitation. He took another step back, panic rising in his chest. What was this? Who was in his head again?

The world flashed red around him, his throat constricting as the word filled his mind.

 ** _HYDRA_**

He shook his head frantically and tracked backwards, knocking himself and another man over. His eyes were wide as hands hauled him upward, his heart beating miles per minute.

"No," he whispered, tears stinging his eyes. Someone shook his hand. He didn't see them walk away.

"Sergeant." Bucky was going to die.

They were back. They had him.

They were going to finish what they started.

 _Longing._

"No." Louder this time. A plea.

The years in captivity came crashing back down onto his shoulders. Everything he fought to forget. He went under again in Wakanda because of this fear. Fear. He feared everything. He was supposed to be getting better. He was healing

He was cursed

He would never be the same

Charlie looked so worried.

Was he Hydra?

He had to be Hydra.

The first time they experimented on him. Nobody was there. Nobody to comfort him. He was taken. They strapped him down. He couldn't move.

He still couldn't move.

The world blurred around him.

Hands were on him again. Charlie was tugging at him, trying to get Bucky's legs to move. They went the opposite direction.

"I have to get out of here," he said, and Charlie stopped. Bucky gasped for breath. The world was quiet, just for a second. All he could hear was his heart beating and

 _Rusted._

Was he crying? He cried a lot when they started. They strapped him down, constricted him. He couldn't move. He still couldn't move. They had a machine. It hurt. It hurt so bad.

Nobody was there to comfort him. It hurt so bad.

Charlie put something on his head. His words were far away.

They put something on his head. That's how it always started. They strapped him in. It hurt. It hurt. They put it on his head.

"Here ya' go, pal. Go get some food in your system; you're wasted. And try not to knock anymore of my newspapers over!"

Bucky Ran.

He dodged the screaming people who wouldn't stop smiling and clipped street corners and ran into bricks and down alleys and behind buildings until his legs gave out and he couldn't breathe and he collapsed to his knees.

 _Furnace._

It was his own damn fault. He couldn't get the words out of his head.

All he could feel were the restraints. His mind slowly slipping as they tortured him. Him, lying there; young, scared and dying, trying to hold on.

"Sergeant. 32557…" The words he would say over and over again. He needed to remember who he was. He was Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th.

Sergeant. 32557…

 _Daybreak._

Sergeant. 32557…

Sergeant. 32557…

Sergeant. 32557…

Sergeant. 32557…

That was what he was saying, all those years ago, when Steve showed up. He wasn't Steve though, not at first. For the first millisecond he was a blank face. And then, when Bucky could place his name, he was never the same again. He was taller, but that wasn't all. Something within him had changed. He wasn't Steve.

Or maybe Bucky wasn't Bucky.

 _Benign._

Things only got worse from there.

He was weak. He was constantly weak. He couldn't remember things like he used to. That's how he figured it out – it was the small stuff. He used to have a cat. One he found on the street when he was a kid. He couldn't remember what color it was.

He couldn't remember what street it was.

He couldn't remember the last number.

Sergeant. 3255…

3255…

Wasn't there something else? He had to ask.

7\. It was 7.

Sergeant. 32557.

 _Homecoming._

 _Nine._

No, not nine. 7.

His hands covered his face. His eyes cried. His chest heaved. There was just one more. He was going to –

"Get me out of here!"

The world stopped. Sound came back to him, he could hear again. He could hear his own sobs wracking his body, his mouth forming the word 'no' over and over again as he pressed his hands to his face. But it felt different. It wasn't cold. His hands were warm. Why were they warm?

"Come on! I don't belong here!" A voice. Such a weird voice. Everything came back.

Everything.

Thanos. Steve. Tony.

Howard.

T'Challa and Wakanda and going under again only to be brought back out. He wanted to stay in. They told him he could heal what was wrong inside, outside. He didn't need to be frozen. He just wanted to be frozen.

He stayed to himself.

He didn't talk a lot.

He had done a lot of bad stuff.

Steve didn't believe it was his fault. He never believed it was his fault.

Why couldn't Steve just believe?

The people and children of Wakanda didn't deserve to be hurt.

None of his victims ever did.

"I'm serious! I don't know how I got here! Just let me out!" Bucky sat down, his back pressed against the wall. He needed time to think. To register. Why couldn't he still be frozen?

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Bucky looked up, but he already knew nobody was talking to him. The voice was coming from behind him, in front of the buildings he resided behind. There was something weird about the voice. Something abnormal to Charlie's or even his own. It sounded. It sounded modern.

"Yo dipshits! Open this damn door and get me out of here!" Bucky's eyes furrowed. He stood up. Curiosity got the best of him as he wiped the tears away and followed her angry shouts. Bucky was used to people shouting when they were angry or scared. All this happy screaming had him on the fritz. He still didn't know why they were so happy.

He still didn't know why his body itched or why his neck felt constricted. He didn't know why his arm felt strangely normal, or why his head felt light even though Charlie put something on it. He still didn't know what Charlie put on his head.

But he did know that her voice had stopped his transition, and that her voice was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. He needed Steve. Why was Steve never there.

She wasn't in front of the building. She was inside of it. She was in jail.

Bucky took a deep breath and opened the door. A few people raised their heads and nodded to him. The officers smiled kindly. Everything looked weird. Familiar. Nothing ever looked familiar to him anymore.

"Sergeant," one of them nodded to him. Bucky stared at him. "What can I help you with?"

"There was a girl here?" He asked, looking around vacantly. As if on cue, she started yelling again.

"I swear to God, if this is another weirdass alien thing, I quit!"

The officer raised an eyebrow.

"She with you? We thought she belonged in the bug house."

Bucky nodded. "She's with me." He didn't know why. He didn't know why any of this was happening. The officer looked quite skeptical. But then he shook his head and cracked a smile, reaching for a set of keys.

"I get it, everyone wants to party. Just lay off the brew, wouldn't ya'?" Bucky licked his lips. They weren't as dry as they normally were.

"Yes, officer." Bucky got another smile before the officer walked away, swinging the keys and whistling. Bucky could feel his heart rate picking up again. What was he doing? He should be finding Steve. Where was Steve?

He came back with a girl. She looked normal and different. Not like the other people around him. She was wearing jeans and a vest. Her hair was long and curly. She was wearing a knitted cap and her boots had heels longer than his planned future.

"Thank you, _officer_ ," she was quipping, sending him a powerful glare as her shoes clicked across the ground. "I don't know what's going on here, but I'd like to call Jane now…" Her voice trailed off as she saw Bucky, her mouth hanging open.

Neither of them said anything for a while, the officer looking back and forth at them with uncertainty.

"I'll be damned." Suddenly there was a smile on her face and she was nodding her head. Bucky was confused. That was how he spent most of his days.

"What?" He managed to rasp, his fingers playing with the hem of his jacket. He was wearing a jacket? She looked proud, nodding to herself and clapping the officer on the back.

"I mean, they told me it was Brooklyn, 1945, but I didn't believe them until now!" She was laughing. Her voice was loud, and filled with emotion. And a lot of sarcasm, as far as Bucky could tell. But time stopped at her words as everything finally seemed to set in. Brooklyn. 1945. It was impossible.

There was no way. But she didn't seem to stop there.

"James Barnes, in the flesh!" She ran up to him, offering her hand to shake. He took it distractedly, her beaming face inches from his as he stared blankly into her eyes, too shocked to remove his hand that she was still shaking.

"You know me?" He asked, his voice hoarse and raspy. Nothing good ever came from the people who knew him. Was it time to start running again? But, for some reason, his feet weren't moving. He didn't feel like he had the strength to fight. Why did everything always end in a fight?

The officer cleared his throat. "So, you two don't know each other?" They both ignored him.

She stepped back, doing a little dance. "This is so cool!" Her voice was high pitched. Bucky watched her. She seemed to finally calm down when she realized he was still standing there like an idiot, and she pushed up her glasses.

"I'm Darcy. Um, Lewis," She rolled her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I'm Darcy Lewis. So…yea."

Brooklyn.

1945.

 _He was home._


End file.
